


An Affirming Flame

by sarkywoman



Category: Andromeda (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-31
Updated: 2010-05-31
Packaged: 2019-03-25 03:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13825971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarkywoman/pseuds/sarkywoman
Summary: When Brendan's death is confirmed, the crew try to help Harper in his grief.





	An Affirming Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2010, inspired by the title of the second episode. I'm in the process of cross-posting old work.

Dylan is discussing the current Pride power dynamics with Charlemagne Bolivar over the screen on the bridge. Harper is nearby at a console, muttering under his breath to himself, this and that about cables and data transfer rates. Dylan tunes him out mostly so that he can pay attention to Bolivar, who is now speaking about the Drago-Kasov Pride.

The Nietzchean speaks about this in the same way he speaks about everything, vaguely amused but mostly bored. Always sounding as though he has somewhere better he could be.

“...of course, they're all reinvigorated by the latest crush of the human rebellion forces on Earth,” the Pride Alpha drawls. “The little kludges aren't going to last long now they've seen that mudfoot leader Lahey crushed under a Nietzchean boot. Literally. It was rather brutal, I heard. Morale shifted from human to Nietzchean instantly.”

Bolivar continues speaking but Dylan is barely listening to the reports now. His ears are focused keenly on the silence to his left. Harper has stopped muttering and stopped tinkering with the console. It had been too much to hope the engineer would have missed Charlemagne's casual description of Brendan's execution. Brendan Lahey, Harper's last living relative. They had not been certain he was alive, but they hadn't been certain of his death either. Until now.

When Dylan dares look to his side, Harper is standing completely still. The Captain waits for the nanowelder to drop from his engineer's hands, for Harper to make an excuse to flee to his quarters.

It doesn't happen.

Slowly, as if he's waking up and wondering why he's on the bridge, Harper slowly resumes his work. Dylan thinks it's safe to broach the subject with Charlemagne, who has quietened.

“What happened to the body?”

“What body?” Bolivar seems genuinely perplexed.

“The rebel leader's.”

The Nietzchean's face twists into a confused expression, not knowing why anybody would care about the appropriate burial of a trouble-making mudfoot. “Why?”

Harper speaks up, still subdued. “He was my cousin.” He doesn't look up at the screen, his eyes remaining fixed on his work.

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” Charlemagne says, and if Dylan took those words and wrung them out, the fake sincerity would flood the bridge. “If that's true I'm almost hesitant to tell you about the...aftermath.” There's no hesitation at all as he continues, “They kept the body to further demoralise the rebellion. Desecrated it. They still have it, I believe, to wave at the kludges who still have spirit.”

Harper's jaw is clenched, his face suddenly so pale that Dylan wonders if he'll be sick. Then his engineer's blue eyes focus on him with a searing intensity. “I'm going to stop it,” Seamus says quietly. Not 'let me stop it'. It isn't a plea or a request. It's a fact.

“Who will you need?” Dylan asks. There's no point in arguing on this one. Harper will go whether permission is given or not.

Harper glances away, concocting ideas that Dylan never wants to know about. “Just Rommie.”

Dylan nods. “We'll set a course for Earth then. Remember, Andromeda will be nearby if you need us.”

Harper laughs. It's a bitter sound. “Bit late for that.”

*

There are memories missing from her archive. Harper says it is nothing to worry about.

Rommie trusts Harper and does not think that he programmed her to feel that way. It is simply a decision she made after observation and interaction. He is a seeker of knowledge who means well. He aspires to great things but would sacrifice anything to save a friend. She knows that although she is his creation he considers her a friend. She has never told him how much that means to her, how being considered a friend makes her feel more alive... more real.

The memories missing from her archive would cover vital elements in their infiltration of the Drago-Kasov base where the corpse of Harper's cousin was held.

Rommie does remember some of the action from the past week. She recalls plenty of battles against small squads of Drago-Kasov, though without context she has trouble filing them in the correct chronological order. Harper has promised he will fix this when he has the time.

She can recall some sort of weaponry that the Drago-Kasov possessed that was specialised to work against androids. She was hit in her efforts to distract the party long enough for Harper to... she cannot remember. Another blank.

But she _can_ remember being on the floor, none of her limbs responding, surrounded by sneering Nietzcheans making crude comments regarding her helpless state. One of them had just been about to press a bone-blade into her eye to see whether she was sophisticated enough to feel horror or pain.

Then a shriller slid into the room, making them all clutch at their ears and roar in agony. As they were distracted by the pain her engineer entered the room unnoticed, clutching a Nietzchean hunting knife that he had most likely liberated from a fallen opponent. The first few were caught unaware and were dead in seconds. The warship aspect of her personality had been extremely impressed by the efficiency of the kills. A blade across the throat from behind. The remaining members of the squad had tried to defend themselves but could not overcome the handicap caused by the shrillers and soon they too hit the floor. The expression on Harper's face as he surveyed the room was Rommie's most recurring memory of their mission so far. It was not an expression she had ever seen him wear before. She had classified anger, fear, elation, concern, jealousy, excitement and arousal, but his facial features had suggested none of those emotions. It was almost emotion _less_. Then he had seen her and concern appeared.

“Rommie! Oh babe, what did they do? Don't you worry, I'm getting us outta here. I got Brendan and managed to free some slaves in the process. They're gonna cover us. Ok, I'm gonna do a quick patch-up that'll get you motor control back until I can do a proper fix on the Maru. Just gotta shut you down for a sec. Trust me, okay?” After that, everything is blank.

There are a _lot_ of memories missing from her archive from the past week. She cannot construct a plausible method of successful infiltration and retrieval using what she knows of her own capabilities and of Harper's. But she can hypothesise, using the memory that she has retained of Harper's efficient disposal of the Nietzcheans threatening her body. The theories she can concoct using that data as a basis involve Harper being far more dangerous and mercenary than he has appeared to both herself and Dylan. Perhaps the Captain should be told.

Harper puts a hand on her shoulder. His cousin's body is wrapped in the back of the Eureka Maru. “Hey, are you okay? Anything I need to take a look at?”

Rommie knows that it is customary for the bereaved to seek comfort from friends. Harper is inverting protocol by offering it to her instead. “I'm fine,” she reassures him. “My repairs are sufficient for the return trip. We should depart immediately.”

Harper seats himself and begins launching procedures. “Yeah, you're probably eager to get back and report to your sisters and Dylan.”

She contemplates what she remembers. Blaster fights. Running. Hiding. An emotionless human creeping into the room and executing six Nietzcheans with ruthless efficiency. Harper's worried blue eyes staring down at her. _“Trust me, okay?”_

“I doubt my account of the mission will be of any use,” Rommie says. “My memory archives of the past week were severely compromised by the Drago-Kasov weaponry. I cannot remember a single event that took place after we entered the base.”

Harper smiles faintly, relieved. “I promise you'll get a total check-up once we're back on the Andromeda. I swear it, even.”

Rommie smiles back. “I trust you, Harper.”

*

Trance sits in the botanical garden amongst the flowers, thinking. She is weary. This is the twenty-seventh time she has lived this week. Aside from this usually being the day of Harper and Rommie's return, the day doesn't hold phenomenal potential, but she has yet to do it right. For Harper's sake, she has to get it right. The day isn't important to anyone but him, but _he_ is important to her and the Universe.

She tried offering her assistance in his trip to Earth, but he refused her. She couldn't find the correct way to phrase it and he couldn't find a polite way to refuse, so those versions of the week had always begun and ended with arguments.

She tried stowing away on the Eureka Maru with Harper and Rommie. That didn't go so well either. They argued. Then she had to decide whether to stay on the Maru or assist Harper and Rommie with the infiltration. Staying on the Maru didn't really affect anything and Harper was still moody with her when he returned. Going with them caused disasters of varying magnitudes. She struggled to know how to treat Harper as he became someone else – someone colder, someone vicious.

Trance always knew he had that potential but she had always assumed it developed later in his life. She thought he was prepared to _become_ the sociopath she had seen in so many futures. Until the outing on Earth, where in another version of this week she had seen him slip effortlessly into the role and then back out of it, back to regular hyperactive silly Harper. It frightens her that he is able to switch off his soul. She knows that a time might come when he chooses not to switch it back on again. She has lived those futures, seen brilliant blue eyes dulled by strife.

She wants to redo it all. She wants to arrive on Nietzchean-ruled Earth and scoop up the Harper family, take them away from that horrible place and pamper baby Seamus. But the Universe needs Harper the way he is. Exactly the way he is, walking the tightrope between genius and insanity.

Trance has trouble guiding him. This week isn't the first time she has failed to find the right course of action to steer Harper back on course. He's too paranoid, too clever and too cynical. She had more power over him when she was purple but even then he could surprise her. He's sneaky. Since her trade with 'his' Trance, Harper has been difficult to reach.

So now she sits in the botanical gardens, wondering what she should be attempting. Harper and Rommie have been back on board the Andromeda for an hour now. Rommie has chosen to keep Harper's methods of infiltration secret. Trance convinced her to spill the beans to Dylan in one version of the day. Within a month Beka and Harper had left the crew. So Trance remains silent this time around. She can't figure out how to interfere for the better. With his cousin's death Harper is volatile. All of her attempted guidance is taken poorly or leads to disaster. She has to think of something. She can't sit here doing nothing.

“Hey Trance? Are you busy?”

This hasn't happened before. Trance rises from the bench. “No, I'm not. Was there something you needed?”

Harper wrings his hands awkwardly, seems to have trouble meeting her eyes. “Um, flowers. For Brendan. Just... it's a human custom, you know? I mean, I'm gonna burn him. Like a cremation. So... I don't know if you'd mind me throwing the flowers onto the pyre. If it bothers you, don't worry about it. I get that you wouldn't want the flowers to burn. It's kind of unfair, I mean, they didn't die and they didn't kill Brendan so why should they...”

She interrupts him smoothly. “Did you have any particular flowers in mind?”

He looks around but she's pretty sure all the flowers look the same to him in much the same way that all of his circuits and wires look the same to her when she catches him at work. “You got any old Earth ones? I know it's a long shot but you've got all kinds of rare stuff here.”

She smiles. “Wait just here.” She hurries off amongst her flowers, picking and trimming and arranging. She feels that Harper would like an eclectic mix, so she throws together roses and daffodils and daisies with snowdrops and lilies and anything else she can find from Earth. She carries them back to Harper, who seems happy with her choices and takes the bouquet carefully as though it's a newborn baby.

“Thanks Trance,” he says quietly. “This hasn't been easy but... everyone's been great. Giving me space but still being there, if you know what I mean.”

“If you need anything at all...” she begins to say.

“I know,” he interrupts with a nod. “Really. I'll let you know. Thanks. And thanks for these, they're beautiful.”

She watches him leave and wonders if she should learn a lesson from this. Her friends are capable of finding their own way sometimes.

*

Beka berated herself all week about letting Harper go to Earth with Rommie. She should have gone with him. She knows that if the roles were reversed, Harper would accompany her on such an emotionally trying trip. But no, she chickened out, left Rommie to deal with it. If Rommie even _could_ deal with it. The avatar was hardly equipped to handle everyday emotions, let alone a grieving Harper.

But Beka's hardly the agony aunt type either. That's why she's been avoiding Seamus. She's no good with the condolences and stuff. Neither of them are, that's one of the things they have in common. Blonde hair and stunted emotional growth.

Harper always tries though. She can count on him to put his foot in his mouth and distract attention away from her awkward silence. She knows it isn't fair but it still takes most of the night before she has the courage to go and find him.

It's not difficult. She doesn't even have to ask Andromeda for his location. Brendan's body is still being kept in the med-bay until they reach the planet of Rhodontana, which is relatively peaceful and quiet. Harper hasn't asked anyone to go planetside with him to burn the body and Beka isn't sure anyone has offered. It's all so damn awkward.

Sure enough Harper is in the med-bay, sitting on the bed opposite his cousin's with a half-empty bottle of whiskey. He looks exhausted. As Beka walks in she makes the mistake of glancing at Brendan's body. Her gasp of horror draws Harper's attention, but he doesn't say anything.

Moments like these help her empathise with Harper's hatred of Nietzcheans. It's easy to say 'live and let live' when you weren't raised in hell. It takes a sight like the mutilated corpse of her engineer's cousin to remind her that Harper has lived a very different life to the rest of them. Few of the crew are _privileged_ , but none of them have witnessed prolonged violence and poverty the way that Seamus has.

“He wouldn't want you to stare,” Harper mumbles eventually, words slurred by the alcohol.

“Sorry,” Beka mutters, wrenching her gaze away from the mess that was once Brendan Lahey and walking over to sit by her engineer.

“I tried...” Seamus says quietly. “Did the best I could cleanin' him up. Got a lot of the mud and... and the blood off. But...but some of the stains...when I tried...” Each word sounded like it pained him. “Skin came with it. I had to stop.”

Beka takes a deep, shaking breath and wraps an arm around Harper, pulling him close to her. “Trance could have...”

“No. I didn't want her doin' it. She gave me the flowers though.”

Beka can see the random collection of plants wrapped up under Brendan's bed. “That's something.” Without meaning to, she carries on speaking. “When you go to burn the body... Will you be okay?”

He turns to face her and gives her the look he gives troubling technical problems. Studies her. Eventually he takes another swig of his whiskey and nods. “I'll be fine. Don't worry.”

“Well, if you change your mind and you want...”

Harper doesn't let her finish. “Don't. You don't want to go with me.”

“It's not about what _I_ want Seamus,” she says, slightly annoyed that he won't even let her make the offer. Slightly relieved at the same time. “It's about what you want.”

“And I would rather be alone than stood there with someone who just wanted to go home,” Harper says firmly. “It's enough that you tried Beka, really. And that you're here with me tonight.”

He holds out the bottle and Beka takes a swig before handing it back. “That really is foul,” she says, her nose wrinkling up at the burning liquid.

“Whiskey was always Brendan's drink,” Harper says. He smiles fondly at the mutilated body of his cousin as though the man is just sleeping. Beka can't even look over there now. She's seen her fill and just the scent of blood and disinfectant is making her nauseous. She wants to flee from the room to a hot shower and scrub her skin pink and raw. She doesn't want to sit here and see Harper take such horror in his stride as though he doesn't expect anything better.

“Did I ever tell you about the Christmas he got me a present?” Harper asks quietly.

Beka shakes her head. “No. Go on.”

Harper chuckles. “It was the most ridiculous thing. I was only like...I dunno, less than ten. He got hold of this old toy, like a little plastic robot that could come apart and go back together different. Then the gang he was with got it into their heads that they could sell it down the local junk market...”

Beka leans back and pulls Harper with her. He doesn't resist and just continues telling his tale. Laying back with him she can focus on the ceiling and not see the broken body of Brendan Lahey. She doesn't have to see the tears on Harper's face, though she can hear them in his voice.

She stays all night. It's the least she can do.

*

The boy is being astoundingly strong in the face of his loss. He has kept his tears to himself, shouldered the burden alone. Tyr can respect this, but he refuses to allow the little man to strain himself carrying the body of his cousin. Brendan was larger and the dead are heavy. The thought of Harper struggling to drag his cousin onto the funeral pyre is unpleasant. The boy spent a lot of time and effort cleaning the body, it would be a shame to have to pull it through the mud. Tyr is certain that anything detracting from the solemn dignity of the occasion will prey on Harper's mind for years to come.

But he knows how stubborn the boy can be. An offer of assistance would be interpreted as an accusation of weakness. It has to be worded correctly.

Tyr waits until the very last minute then strides onto the Maru. Harper is startled to see him, but only his heart rate gives it away. “I wish to accompany you,” Tyr says firmly, “But only if my presence is acceptable to you.”

Harper frowns in confusion, hands poised over the Maru's controls. “Why?”

Tyr hesitates, but he had anticipated the question so it isn't difficult to find an explanation. “In Kodiak, it was customary to assist in the carrying of the body as a mark of respect. You...” He pauses again, the words stuck on the tip of his tongue. He forces them out. “You are as Pride to me, Harper. And your cousin was a strong man. If you wish to do this alone I will leave you be, but I would be honoured to assist you with the ceremony.”

“Honoured?” Harper repeats, wry amusement curling his lips. “An Uber honoured to bear the burden of a kludge corpse? Brendan'd never know what to make of that.”

“I'm sure I know what he would make of you referring to him as a 'kludge' though,” Tyr answers dryly. “He died trying to fix that power imbalance. I merely wish to do my part for his cause and show my respect.”

Harper closes his eyes and exhales slowly. When he opens his eyes all his feigned amusement is gone. “You're right. I'm sorry. I'm tired, you know? Life's been totally fucked-up since I heard the news. Like I don't remember which me I am.” The boy rubs a hand over his face. “Okay, sure. Come with. I should probably have someone with me.”

The inherent trust in that statement makes Tyr glad that he chose to offer his company.

The trip down to Rhodontana is short and silent. Tyr can sense Harper's exhaustion and wonders if the little professor has slept for any sensible amount of time since Charlemagne's revelation. He does believe that the ship's avatar would have forced the engineer to sleep at some point, but Harper can be stubborn about the most ridiculous things.

They land uneventfully on the woodland planet and immediately begin gathering wood for the funeral pyre. It is not the first time either of them have engaged in the ritual. Tyr always found it reassuring in the past – loss troubles him of course, but at least he is alive to be performing the ceremony. The satisfaction of his survival imperatives outweighs the grief of loss. Most of the time. He knows though that most humans do not feel the same way. They obsess over their losses and their survivor's guilt takes them over. He plans to keep a close watch on Harper to ensure this does not happen. The boy has suffered enough over his losses on Earth already.

They go back for Brendan's body together. The Maru isn't far from the pyre, but Tyr is still struck by how much Harper would have struggled had he done this alone. The boy has a brilliant mind and sound survival instincts but his physical strength is in dire need of improvement and he has difficulty carrying his half of the precious burden.

Once the corpse is laid atop the stack of wood, Harper makes Tyr wait by the pyre as he rushes back into the Maru to collect something. The boy returns with a bundle of assorted flowers. There must have been some confusion or derision in Tyr's expression, since the little man looks at his face and says, “It's an Earth thing. Flowers at funerals.”

Tyr draws out from his belt the small object he has brought with him. “You may burn this with him. It's a Kodiak thing. Trophies from fallen enemies.”

Harper takes it with a look of morbid curiosity. “Is that...”

“A Drago-Kasov boneblade. Ripped from them while they still lived. I thought that perhaps it would symbolise your cousin's victories and strength in battle.”

Harper smiles. It's a fleeting expression, but genuine. “Thanks.” He tucks the boneblade into the bouquet of flowers as Tyr lights the torch and hands it over.

After a few slow steps and deep breaths, Harper is holding the torch to the pyre and watching the sparks jump across, igniting the wood and spreading the flame. He drops the torch into the fire and steps back to stand with Tyr. A swing of his arm and the bouquet with its boneblade adornment flies in a smooth arc up onto Brendan's body, where the flames are beginning to lick.

“Why a burning?” Tyr asks, “And not a burial?” It is customary for warriors to be burned, but he had thought Earth tradition was different.

“Earthers haven't buried each other for decades now,” Harper says quietly as the light from the fire scatters patterns on their faces. “The Magog'll dig up the dead if they can't find the living. Nietzcheans desecrate graves. Once someone's infested with larvae you have to burn them. And when it's been a particularly bad day sometimes you can't find enough spare dirt to cover all the dead. Fire just made more sense eventually.”

They are silent for a while longer, watching the fire take. Then Harper finds more to say. “It's more than practicality though. Fire is warm and bright. It's a reminder that it's not all dark and cold out there, you know? Whoever's dead, it's not you because you're standing there watching the fire burn.” Harper sighs. “God that sounds heartless.”

“It sounds intelligent.”

“Coming from a Nietzchean that's about the same thing. No offence.”

“None taken.” Though Tyr does consider mentioning that a heartless man would not be standing in his position.

Harper sighs again. “Me and Brendan watched so many fires together. Never thought I'd ever see him burn.”

“I only met him briefly but I think...” Tyr isn't sure how his words will be taken, but risks them anyway. “He would prefer it to watching you burn.”

Harper nods slowly. There are tears in his eyes but they do not fall. He sits on the dusty ground. Tyr continues to stand.

Together they watch the affirming flame until the last ember gives up its glow.


End file.
